I was/is her first and she is and always will be my first.
9 months, she carried me to the well, garden, kitchen, and through thick and thin. She endured it all~ the daily kicks and the morning sickness but not once did she think of getting rid of the thing in her womb.
9 months later, after surgery I was alive, screaming and doing all things that babies do.
Many years after, she has still stood by me through it all, through the cries and through the smiles. I was the kind of kid who couldn’t accept being put down, I was always on someone’s back or chest. I used to cry alot, but she never gave me up, I cried to the extent of being given a nickname by some great aunty, ‘Lukaaba’ which translates to ‘the one who cries’. But I was also a charming little boy and I guess the spark never fades.
Having no father, mama’s love, guidance and support is mostly what I needed to get through life, and I was never deprived of any.
The morning walks to the garden in the 90’s, the trek to the well, the cow chasing and firewood splitting, cooking and discipline!
Mama never let me dodge any, dodging always came with a heavy price, a** whooping.
During those days and times when anger and disgust filled my brain like a smoke that blurs vision, when I had no shoulder to cry on, when I wanted to listen to no other voice, Mama always gave me her whole.
Dear mama, I wasn’t the best of son’s but never did you curse me and for all those times I didn’t listen to you and all those times I hurt you, forgive me. Today, I am in a thank you spirit and I can’t thank you more in one day so I will do it everyday of my life, you are my rock and shoulder, thank you.